When I was a daughter, I thought in my distortions
I could offer this body.
Candles and red glass, a cellist in the corner,
another mediocre drama about love, a comedy.
Don't they all seem at the beginning.
Difficult to distinguish the seeds
of the end in the initial wind.
Beauty, a signpost there's no path from.
I am touched I touch the compulsive mind somehow
tranquilized.
Distorted rectangle of sunlight on the wall.
The neighbor singing a voice as if professionally
trained just for this scene.
The curtains forgotten.
The makeup, stuntman, bed to be wheeled away.